Welding Rig

There are a number of inside jokes about 1980s music.

Turn your sarcasm detector to full power then add more power.

I run a number of spell checks. Some still get through and I proofread. I know you don't believe me.

Welding Rig

I arrived home after a long day at work to find my wife, Danielle, walking excitedly toward me. She excitedly proclaimed, "My sister won!"

OK... good news... I guess, but context is useful so I shrugged, "She won the lotto or... what?"

She never lost her smile, "She entered a drawing on the radio station WORM 101.5 and won four tickets to a dinner with Ty and Tommy of Mystic Myrror!"

I smiled... outwardly. I was not smiling inside.

Besides being one of those groups with faux, industry pushed success, the members were all chosen partly on looks, and even more on a well worn formula. Tyler 'Ty' Gunn, real name Tyler Grabowski was the stereotypical stubble beard dark haired 'bad boy' lead singer. Tommy Gunn, no relation, real name Tommy Smith, was hark haired, clean shaven, and steroid buffed lead guitarist. Tommy Gunn? Really? Apparently not attending this little shindig was Brandon Carr, yes that is his real name, the 'hottie' blonde surfer dude godling, drummer, and Randy Rose, real name Randolph Rosencrantz, the dark brooding, 'but sensitive' bassist.

Do your eyes hurt from all the rolling they are doing? Mine do!

Were they the worst group in the world? Not really. Tommy Smith... er Gunn was a fairly good guitarist despite his size and the others were not devoid of unusual talent like a typical boy band. Ironically... Randy Rose was in the boy band 'Dream Date' for a few years back a decade ago. I'll stop with the descriptions before you get a splitting headache from rolling your eyes.

I'm more into 1980's music thanks to my dad. He's a dinosaur.

Unfortunately, guess who is the favorite group of my dear wife and her sister? I'll give you 48 guesses! Who'da thunk you would guess Mystic Myrror on the first go? Did I mention that I am a touch sarcastic when I'm not happy?

I'm not happy.

Sigh and how do I know all this shit about a band I actively dislike? My wife is kind enough to hide it most of the time, but not completely and she talks about them sometimes. Of course my wife and her sister, shriek... er talk to each other about Mystic Myrror trivia on their phone calls. She's twenty-seven years old and gushes like a teen.

Anyway, my dear wife and her sister had invited me and her sister had invited her husband. Yay! BLEH!

So... I'll skip the long description of the week leading up to the big thing Friday at Hotel Hauteur, Indianapolis' most expensive downtown hotel with its, I know shocker, French restaurant, Bistro Hauteur. I faked being happy and my wife knew I was faking it. She appreciated me making the effort so we had extra sex which is always appreciated.

My wife and her sister are what most people would call, 'maybe nines' In a group of ten random women their age, my wife and her sister might be the second best looking, but certainly not worse than third. My wife is a petite five foot one inch, small chested, and absolutely adorable woman with shoulder length dark brown hair and a smile that could light up a stadium.

Her sister, Brittany, was around five foot four, and probably a bit prettier than her sister as judged by a random onlooker. Oh, and you would notice, the boobs on the woman are impressive. They are BIG and they stick out with an impressive lack of sag. She is damn proud of them and yeah, I'll admit, they are the eighth wonder of the world.

No, I would not trade my wife for her sister. Danielle and I get along with an almost surreal lack of rancor. High libido and low drama are a giant win and I love my wife for just that. Building our marriage actually builds it over time rather than having to keep shoring up the base.

I adore my wife.

So back to Friday.

We left home and thirty-five minutes later, drove up to the front of the hotel near the center of downtown and pulled into the half circle drive. Once I stopped the car, the doorman opened the passenger door for my wife as the valet opened mine. I handed over the keys and joined my wife who kissed my cheek and said, "Thank you for tonight. I will make sure you get your due." She held my eyes. She is excellent and enthusiastic when I do stuff like this for her. You give... you get.

Bistro Hauteur is just past the front desk of the hotel on the right side and fancy as fuck with marble, tuxedos, and people feeling better than everyone else. Danielle was in a fairly low cut gold dress with a fairly deep V between her delightful B-cup boobs. No bra is necessary and she was not wearing one. There was a bit of cleavage, but no nipple.

Once in the main lobby, we met up with my wife's sister and her husband. Brittany was also wearing a low cut dress, but the V was down to her navel and her boobs... no bra. She was showing them off almost to the point of being illegal. You could see her areola through the semi-transparent material and the jiggle was like two puppies fighting under a semi translucent blanket.

You see where this is going, right? Yeah. Two women who love music industry godlings dressed up all fancy in an expensive hotel.

What could possibly go wrong? Give me a few. Yeah, I know, DUH!

We were given instructions to mention that we were part of the Gunn party and the maitre d' was prompt upon hearing the name, "Of course! Right this way to one of our VIP tables!"

We were led to a table in the back and not near the kitchen door. Yeah, impressive as fuck. I'd been there once for lunch with a potential supplier who was trying to bribe... er, impress me when we were negotiating for a rebar contractor. It did not go well. First, my bribe price is WAY higher than lunch and sex with his beautiful giant boob wife. Yes, he had pictures and yes, he offered. I have never stepped out on Danielle and I never will. Yeah, I know this is like some kind of internet story written by a mental case.

Second, that kind of fraud is a felony over a thousand dollars and I don't want to be the bunkmate of my sure bad luck, Ten Inch Tyriq, cellmate.

Third, I already do okay money-wise being a project and site manager for Carsen Construction. A hundred twenty grand per year at age 28? Call me happy and call my compensation good enough.

We got to the table and damn, I must say that Tommy is fucking impressive as hell. Steroids will do that. Six five. V-shaped torso. Someone shaved all the hair off a sasquatch, put it into a five thousand dollar suit, and taught it to play guitar.

Ty had shades on and the restaurant was rather dim. Not my problem if he stumbles on something because he can't see. He made a most excellent and convincing sneer. Gotta do the bad boy thing, right? Billy Idol must have taught him.

They both deigned to stand as apparently it was my job to introduce us, "Er. Hi, I'm Michael, this is my wife Danielle, my brother-in-law, Steve, and his wife Brittany."

Ty spared me a glance then smiled or sneered or whatthefuckever at Danielle and gestured to the seat next to him. Tommy didn't bother glancing at Steve and just stared at Brittany's melons and gestured to the chair next to him. It was a round table so I sat between Steve and my wife and Steve was between me and his wife.

This isn't obvious, is it?

Conversation started out pretty reasonable, Tommy was playing 'polite' so Ty could brood and be bad. Touring was hard. Travel sucked. They were starting to write for their next album. He knows this celebrity or that one...

My Maybach is in the shop again for electrical issues. Boo hoo. Buy a Camry, not a rolling arcade game with leather seats.

The waiter, John, came and I must say that he was impressively trained and professional, treating the VIPS and the peasants the same. The salads came, I like a lot of dressing and Bistro Hauteur had a very good Caesar dressing that I loved the other time I had been there. Tommy admonished me that Caesar dressing was not good for staying in shape. I avoided the easy comment about steroids causing shrunken testicles. See! I'm nice. OK, kind of. OK, not really. My radar was on and I recognized two guys out for married pussy from a million miles away.

Ty ordered the most expensive wine on the list. Chateau Dechanns or Dick Chance or whatever.

I tried a sip. It tasted like a lot of money then I switched to Coke and not that zero calorie shit. We both see the path this thing is headed on and I'm not a fucking moron that is going to get drunk. Steve had a glass then a second during the main dinner. Not the brightest move I've seen, but two is not drunk for a man Steve's size especially when he is eating.

Both wives were enamored and both smiled too much. They lobbed tons of softball questions which of course Ty and Tommy hit out of the park. Lots of banter and lots of low level flirting, nothing too bad so far other than my wife was star struck.

Dinner, yeah, pretty damn good. Their Steak Tartare was a safe choice. My wife had Crepes Suzette and it was all done to perfection. My wife was on her second glass of wine as was Brittany. We finished dinner and the predictable happened, Ty and Tommy started testing the waters. The first swipe came from Ty to me, "So, Mikey, what do you drive?"

I fake smiled. The game was afoot and I said, "The name is Michael and I drive an F250. I work for a contractor and sometimes have to bring things to building sites."

I think he was hoping for something cheap and small, I run over Mini Coopers in my F250, but he kept on the path, "Carpenter eh? Ever driven a Bugatti?"

Nice try, but my inner sarcasm was pretty on game so I answered, "Project, site manager and engineer. Thousand pound welding rigs would mess up the upholstery of a Bugatti."

Ty looked a bit frustrated that his attempt at belittling me fell flat. Tommy was sharper than he looked. Sasquatches have brains? Whoda guessed? He backed the conversation up back to safer territory, "So, Brittany, what is your favorite of our songs?"

She gushed, "Paris Nights!"

For reference,the song Paris Nights starts off pretty tame and ends rather explicitly. It's the kind of a ballad about a wife who comes backstage for autographs and ends up pulling a train with the band. Yeah, Brittany walked right into that one. He made a point of asking what she thought of the end.

Reading between the lines of his story, early in their success, the first married woman he bedded happened at a show in Paris. You have a literal line of single women wanting to be with you and you pursue married ones? Go fuck yourself.

He asked what she thought of the end and she said it was hot.

Yeah, that was a bad answer. Before he could push further, one of the superbly diligent wait staff brought over a desert cart though everyone passed on desert. I restarted the conversation asking if Ty had ever had to fend off the boyfriend of a husband of one of his conquests. He bragged his security had stopped a number of them then smirked. I made a comment that they must be like Superman. He asked why. I said his security staff must be faster than a speeding bullet.

That one went right over Ty's head. Tommy got it and looked at me with a bit of concern. I smiled and scratched my nose with my middle finger. Sasquatch is smarter than the idiot wearing sunglasses at night. Things began to wind down but not before they pulled a small bag of souvenirs.

Each wife was given an autographed CD case cover signed by all four members and a few other random autographed items from the Gunn 'brothers'.

After dinner was done and the women bantered and flirted for an hour, the Gunn douchebags had to head up to their rooms and we were left alone with our wives. Brittany was happily going through her collection of stuff while my wife sat back and enjoyed the last of her Chateau Dick Chance. Steve and I discussed the finer differences between assholes that drive Maybachs versus assholes that drove Bugattis.

Brittany said she had to go to the bathroom and invited my wife to join her. My wife waved her hand a bit dismissively then Brittany repeated she needed to use the facilities, but my wife was still enjoying her last quarter glass of Chateau Dick Chance, so she declined. I am sure Brittany knows how to pee without the help of my wife. About fifteen minutes later, Brittany had not returned to the table.

My wife looked at us both, "I guess I better go see what is taking Brittany so long.", so she went to the bathroom to find her. She was gone for three minutes then ran across the far end of the room out the restaurant and into the lobby.

At this point I am totally dubya-tee-eff wondering what is going on and about to get up to see when Steve received a text. He looked at it then looked again then again, looking confused then angry. He dropped the phone in front of me screen up, 'Couldn't face you, but Tommy has asked me to spend the night and Ty has invited Danielle. I will make it up to you tomorrow. XOXO Brittany.

I looked over then saw he now kind of looked like a lost puppy. It took me a minute to put two and two together that my wife had run across and into the lobby.

FUUUUUUUCK!

So at this point, I was raging myself then my phone rang. I looked at it, from my wife. Yeah, I'll skip that call.

It rang again and again. Then text after text. I ignored them. It took a bit for me to get Steve calmed down enough to not crash into everything on the drive home. I was in anger mode, alternating between wanting to turn the car around and burn the hotel to the ground with them in it and planning on going on social media to out my soon-to-be-ex wife and her sister.

Unfortunately my attack helicopter was in the shop with Ty's Maybach.

About two thirds of the way home or about twenty five minutes from the hotel, the hotel called and I accepted the call and snarled, "WHAT?"

The desk clerk said, "Your wife is here and you are not taking her calls. Why is that sir?"

I got sarcastic! I know... shock!

I said in faux sweetness, "Look if my cheating wife needs a ride. Ty Gunn can pay for that and our divorce. Maybe Steve and I can get a group rate."

I heard indistinct conversations as the clerk apparently put her hand over the speaking end.

Sir, "Your wife says to get your stupid head out of your ass and come get her."

I rolled my eyes so hard I looked like one of those people in a voodoo movie, "Why would I do that?"

"Sir, she was running around looking for you for twenty minutes and sitting in the lobby crying for ten minutes after that. Plus. We are kicking her out after she created quite a scene on the fifteenth floor of the hotel. Our security guy is tired of following her around looking for you then having to stand over her until she leaves."

OK this is where you insert the record scratch sound and I said, "Eh what?"

What's a record? Ask a dinosaur.

I heard my wife indistinctly in the background then she said, "Sir just come get your wife. She says to tell you she is not an idiot like her sister. Oh, and I might suggest flowers will be in order tomorrow."

I got off I485 and turned around then got back on it going the other way, heading back toward downtown, arriving in front of the hotel twenty-five minutes after the call. I had no need of the valet because my wife stormed past the doorman attempting to open the door, opening it herself and getting in. Making sure to slam the door shut extra hard.

She looked at me with pure anger for half a second then sat facing forward without saying anything. If looks could kill, I would be a pile of ashes sitting in a sub zero degree hellscape from the cold anger radiating from her.

Yay.

Once home, she stormed up the stairs and disappeared. My pillows and a blanket flew down the stairs, landing at the bottom. The door slammed again. Damn.

I have no fucking idea how I fell asleep, but I did. Maybe eye rolling makes people tired. I woke at three in the morning to a sniffle. I opened my eyes and in the dim light I could see my wife sitting on the coffee table looking at me. She saw I woke up and she sniffed, "How could you think I would do that to you? How could you?"

I could not think of a nicer way than the truth, "I saw you run out to the lobby then, almost immediately, Steve got a text that Brittany was spending the night with Tommy."

She cried a bit and said, "That hurts. You think I would do that."

She looked defeated then handed me one of the autographed papers she received from Ty, 'Meet me in room 1504 for a night you will never forget.'

She opened her phone and showed me a text from her sister. 'Tommy has invited me to his room for the night. I'm in the room next to Ty's. He invited you on the yellow paper which has his room number."

She sighed, "I never read the yellow paper until after I got that text. I raced upstairs trying to save my idiot sister. Yes, I know in hindsight, Tommy had already been with her by the time I got to their floor."

She looked at me, "I take it Brittany texted you?"

I shook my head, "Steve got a text explaining she was spending the night with Tommy. Your sister has destroyed him."

Danielle looked defeated, and she shook her head, "The note I had said Room 1504. There was a door right next to 1504 on that floor. The floor is all big suites. I started banging on room 1502 screaming for my sister to get her ass out of that room."

She sighed, "I neglected to notice that down the hall, there was an alcove with another door to another room. My sister was in 1506 and I scared the shit out of some old rich couple, not my sister."

I looked at her in shock then laughed, "Wait. You went upstairs to stop your sister and assumed the first door you saw was the only one next to Tommy's room?"

She sighed then looked down then up and nodded, "The hotel is serious about the comfort of the people in the suites. They are rich VIPs and the security guy was up within two minutes as I was banging on the door and yelling my head off."

She half chuckled, "He yanked me away from the door and pinned me to the wall and told me if I did not come quietly, he would use zip ties to restrain me. It was then that a ninety year old woman peeked out the door of room 1502."

I looked at her in shock then laughed, "Damn, we make a fine pair of idiots making assumptions."

She thought for a second, laughed then got serious and looked at me, "Why did you lose faith in me? It really hurts."

I was as gentle as I could be, "What would you think if the situation were reversed? Think about what happened. Your sister disappeared then you looked for her then I saw you run to the lobby and disappear. Right after that, Steve got that text."

She thought for what seemed like a year but was probably a couple minutes. Yeah, not a fun two minutes or so. She looked up at me and I said, "I am sorry for not having more faith in you."

That broke the ice. She smiled, stood, then took off her night shirt and pushed her panties down, standing nude before me as she held out a hand, "No sex, but strip off. I need you to hold me and I need to feel your skin on mine."

I stripped off and we went to our room and yes, I cuddled her naked and no, I did not get laid that night. My wife is into makeup cuddles, not makeup sex. Sometimes she just needs to be spooned and securely inside my embrace.

*******

My wife smiled at me adoringly, "I felt so safe that night in your arms."

I ended my story and looked at my wife of thirty years, Danielle sitting next to me and smiled then looked at my kids and then at Steve's kids, "And that was about a year and a half before Steve married your mom, Danielle's cousin, Olivia."

Steve smiled then held out his hand and Olivia took it, "I was determined to remain single. Olivia changed my mind."